He hiked the hills of Hollywood
And when he reached the sign,
He pulled down his trousers to the knee
And pooped beneath the Y.
He hustled to the freeway then
And caught a cab to school
But when he reached the classroom door
He had to poop there, too.
No one knew what made him
Poop so often and so much
But deep inside, poor Billy knew
‘Twas caused by fealty’s touch
Poor Billy, often thought this thought:
To love the world meant that he could not
Poop where the poop belongs–
He had to poop on everything
His poop was like his song….
“I am a little poopy boy who wants to
sail the seas; I’ll capture
love and pirate girls and poop
where e’r I please.”
Word Play 